


towards the only path

by pyrophane



Category: THE9 (Band), 青春有你2, 青春有你2 | Youth With You 2 (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Another Sheetmask Microtransaction, Canon Compliant, F/F, One-Sided Rivalry, Slightly Non-Linear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrophane/pseuds/pyrophane
Summary: Xueer never finds herself in an empty room.
Relationships: Kong Xue'er/Xu Jiaqi
Comments: 25
Kudos: 118
Collections: BBBFest Debut Round: The Bittersweet Option





	towards the only path

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively, kxe picks fights with various girls for the self actualisation/Get-Out-Of-My-School of it all
> 
> welcome to another episode of 2pickshipping: High Rankers Ranking Highly Near Each Other by yours truly... i swear my agendas just get less and less comprehensible but maybe that's all part of the survival show journey too. why is aria also here? it's free 3pick
> 
> shoutout to nicole for joining me in this agenda, and to cindi for kindly helping me navigate c-ent resources <33 also see end notes for some reference explanations!!

She finds Jiaqi in the cafeteria. It’s early, but the sight of Jiaqi sitting alone at a table on the far side without her companymates, dwarfed by the empty room, is unexpected enough that Xueer pauses in the doorway and has to blink a few times to ascertain whether she’s actually awake. Jiaqi’s fingers are wrapped around a waxed paper cup, her hair pinned back from her face with a crosshatch of pale pink bobby pins, a velvet ribbon bow perched in the centre. Xueer fills a cup of hot water for herself and crosses the floor.

Above the doorway Jiaqi is seated near, there’s a leaderboard: a triangular display showcasing the current top nine in rank order, watching over the entire room as they eat. After each ranking update, the staff get out the ladders and rearrange the mini display, shuffling the trainee portraits around to reflect the seismic shifts in popularity, the whims of the editing team. It’s all delightfully analog. Xueer watched them do it, once, late at night, as they smoothed her portrait into place at eighth. 

Jiaqi’s portrait hasn’t been touched since it was hung up there when the triangle was tacked up, safely ensconced in the second row, which is probably the lowest it’ll ever be. Xueer’s own face looks back at her from the danger zone, barely past the high-water mark of #9. There’s a sour taste when she swallows, chased down with a gulp of water; she can do better than this. She needs to do better than this.

“I like your hairclips,” Xueer says, sliding into the seat opposite Jiaqi. “They’re really pretty.”

Jiaqi glances up, wide-eyed, like she hadn’t noticed Xueer’s entry into the room, and reaches a slim hand up to touch the pins. “Thanks,” she says. “I made this myself! It’s all one clip, see… ” She slides it out, a square raft of pins propping up the bow, and holds it up for Xueer to see. Xueer makes the appropriate admiring exclamations, and Jiaqi reaffixes it in her hair, demeanour a little warmer. 

“You’re up so early,” Xueer says. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a morning person.”

The warmth on Jiaqi’s face blooms into a grin. “I was going to say the same for you,” she says.

“Really? What makes you think that?” 

“Well, you just look so much like a princess,” Jiaqi says. “Surely princesses can rise whenever they want to.”

“That’s more Shuxin’s department, isn’t it?” Xueer tosses her hair. “I’m just a trainee.”

“All of us are trainees,” Jiaqi points out. 

“Not you,” Xueer says. “You’re an idol already.” 

Jiaqi’s head doesn’t move, but her eyes dart to the side of the room. It’s too early for even the camerapeople to have set up for the day, though. Jiaqi says, carefully, “We all came here to start over.”

“I’m,” Xueer lets the corner of her mouth tug up; Xiaotang embraced the label with her typical laconic coolness but even though Xueer knows exactly the right words to say and the right way to inflect them, her pride won’t let her put her heart into it, and it cools her tone, “twice-cooked pork. Half of everyone here’s twice-cooked pork. Even the PD! But you—you’ve already made it.” 

Xueer’s done her research, of course. She never walks into battle unprepared. The moment the full list of contestants was released Xueer’d triaged her competition name by name, and Xu Jiaqi came in near the very top. This isn’t the first time they’ve crossed paths; Xueer knows exactly what she’s up against. Jiaqi carries her beauty with a grace borne of long hours familiarising herself with each line of her body. Xueer’s seen it firsthand. There’s a magnetism to Jiaqi, even in stillness. She imagines the list of Jiaqi’s charms, pinned down precisely and named, one by one: longer or shorter than her own? 

Eight years under her belt have turned her wanting into a thing with teeth, ravenous for the spotlight. Starving like a wolf in the winter. Every moment Jiaqi’s shone under the stage lights Xueer has been sweating it out in practice rooms, shuttled from company to company, false start to dead end. Without the dream of idolhood Xueer has nothing. She made sure of that. A black hole sucking down every drop of light she can pump out of herself, mirror or imitation of the spotlight.

She thinks, wistfully, that it’d be nice to have someone like Jiaqi on her side. They’ve stood side by side before, on another stage. Jiaqi can afford a generosity, a brightness of spirit that Xueer is just a little too hungry to affect. But that choice is out of her hands, so she puts it out of her mind.

“We were like fish in a river,” Jiaqi says. Xueer has already heard her say this in more or less the same words at least four times. “We wanted to swim out to the sea. See if we could make it out in the open.”

“There’s no cameras here, you don’t need to give me the party line,” Xueer says. Abruptly she’s upset for no discernible reason. Jiaqi doesn’t owe her anything, not familiarity, a backstage selca, Jiaqi’s fingers looped around her wrist at Guangzhou airport, but disappointment flashes hot and then cold through her. 

Jiaqi says, “It’s not a line.” The worst part of this is that she’s probably telling the truth.

Xueer is not a princess, or a morning person. But she knows the rules of this game. A lineage of victors: Cai Xukun, Meng Meiqi, Zhou Zhennan, Li Wenhan. Every one of them had a history with the stage before their show. A brief, unsatisfying taste of a bright dream they came back for. Learned how to hold onto, this time round.

She stands up, her chair scraping unpleasantly against the floor. “I’ll see you around,” she says loftily. Overhead, Shuxin’s glossy portrait smiles down at her from the apex of the pyramid. Xueer smiles back at her, the smile she trained into herself through hours staring at herself in the mirror until her face went stiff with muscle memory, and walks out of the cafeteria.

An Qi throws herself into practice with a ferocity that frankly freaks Xueer out. She doesn’t consider herself an easily cowed person, but An Qi’s focus is a blunt force weapon capable of bludgeoning the proudest of necks into submission. Xueer can respect that, even as she’s sizing her up, the exact dimensions of the threat An Qi presents. When it comes down to it, will An Qi be the one to knock Xueer out of the running? In a few short days they’ll be playing out that competition in miniature, jostling for live votes in their first stage broadcast. They're on the same team now, fulfilling the same role, substitutable. And there’s very little Xueer hates more than feeling like one of many. 

The team An Qi has built is less _team_ , more _collection of seven skilled individuals with little in common standing next to one another in formation_ , but that’s fine. They don’t need to be more than the sum of their parts if that sum is already big enough to get them to the finish line. It gives Xueer more of a chance to stand out, anyway. She knows she’s one of the favourites here, but she’d been the same eight years and an ocean away, and where had that gotten her? She can’t let up until she’s squeezed her way through the neck of the hourglass, claimed her place in the triangle of seats spilling out.

In the past she’s made a mistake or two. A few of them. Okay, a lot of them. But she's done with that, done with the near misses. This is probably her last chance. She won't let it slip through her fingers. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and wordlessly settles back into formation behind An Qi for another round. 

“Kong Xueer’s hair never has a single strand out of place,” Xinyi mutters to Zihan, probably thinking she’s out of earshot. Her own hair’s plastered to her jawline with sweat. “How the fuck does she do it?”

Zihan nods slowly, but before Xueer can eavesdrop on her response An Qi says, “Alright, from the top again. One, two, three, four—”

When Xueer’s coming back to her team’s practice room after dinner, the door labelled DANCE - THE EVE is cracked slightly ajar. Xueer thinks, absurdly, of the children’s tune Shuxin has taken to belting cheerfully offkey at the top of her lungs lately, whenever she deems the person in the shower has taken too long in there and should relinquish the bathroom to her: _little rabbit, be good, open the door, hurry up and let me in!_ Yesterday Jiya yelled back, _Yu Shuxin, you have got to stop kidding yourself, in what universe are you the wolf here?_ Shuxin only winked at Xueer, who raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement, and resumed banging on the bathroom door.

Someone’s laughing inside the The Eve room, a loud cackle over the sound of the music spilling out through the gap. “Xu Jiaqi,” a voice shrieks gleefully, “I didn’t know you had it in you—” 

Xueer quickens her pace down the corridor. Her own team’s room is, unusually, empty except for Zihan. An Qi, who is otherwise everpresent, dedicates herself to mealtimes with the same relentless intensity as she does to dance, and Xueer gets the feeling everyone else is pretty relieved for the break and happy to follow suit; An Qi may not be leader, but she is centre, and that holds almost as much weight.

Zihan’s reached the first prechorus. Xueer slips into formation just in time for the part where she leans forward and folds her arms over Zihan’s lower back, a magnet snapping into place. _I like everything, I can do everything,_ declares Jolin Tsai’s voice over the speakers. Well, close enough.

They finish the runthrough, the sound of two sets of breathing harsh in the silence after the last note. Right now, Zihan’s rank is far from the upper echelons, hasn’t graced the cafeteria leaderboard, but Xueer’s done her research on Zihan too, knows her trainee pedigree, and isn’t stupid enough to let another potential threat slip by. 

“Easier or harder?”

Zihan is a little slow to respond, like she isn’t used to being directly addressed. She blinks, a dreamily ponderous quality to even this small movement. “I’m sorry?”

“Than training at…” Xueer’s eyes flick to the mounted cameras. No flashing red light to indicate an active recording session. “SM.”

“That was a long time ago,” Zihan says.

“It’s not really the sort of thing you forget, is it?” Xueer says. “You know, I trained under Yuehua for a while, too. It can’t really compare to the kind of training you get at one of the big Korean companies.”

“I know all about—” Zihan snaps her mouth shut.

“Of course you do.” Xueer smiles, sweet as a pear with a rotten core. “You left, I left… we have a lot in common, don’t you think?”

Zihan’s eyes flash. “I didn’t give it up,” she says coldly. All the absentminded diffidence gone from her in an instant, as though struck by lightning. “I tried to stay for as long as I could. I’m not like—”

Xueer says, “Don’t move your head so much.”

“What?”

“That’s the secret to keeping your hair out of your face when you dance. I heard Xinyi talking to you about it earlier. It’s just a matter of control.”

In the end their stage comes down to the three of them: An Qi, Zihan, and Xueer. The air in the waiting room is so, so still. Milliseconds stretching out like golden sugar syrup. Blindly, Xueer reaches a hand out to Zihan beside her, and their fingers collide, Zihan seeking the same: something warm to hold onto. Zihan’s grip is firm, almost painful. Here is a girl who does not let go. Heart in her throat, Xueer squeezes back just as hard, and waits for the reveal.

Xiaotang wanders into the bathroom while Xueer’s finishing up her morning routine, yawning as she leans over the vanity and starts patting toner into her skin. For a while they work on themselves in tired, companionable silence. Finally Xueer sets down the eyeshadow brush in her hand. “How do I look?” she asks, batting her eyelashes. “Enough sparkle?”

Xiaotang switches off the hair dryer she’s been using to heat her eyelash curler—it’s a trick Xueer taught her—and passes a critical eye over Xueer’s face in the mirror. “Definitely,” Xiaotang says dryly. “Sun Wukong would be jealous.”

Xueer claps her hands together. “Excellent! Do you think Shuxin knows anyone planning a new Journey to the West remake, maybe she can put in a word—” 

Xiaotang turns the hair dryer back on. Xueer purses her peach-tinted lips at Xiaotang’s reflection, reels off a loud admonition against stealing her setting powder, and leaves the bathroom to harass Shuxin and Jiya, both still in varying states of semi-alertness, into giving her their opinions. It’s the first day of theme song rehearsals; she’s already suffering the humiliation of dropping into C Class from A, and she can’t afford to look less than perfect.

Clustered in the C practice room, Xueer and her new classmates wait for the staff to finish setting up the filming equipment. She smooths a hand along her track shorts, admiring the drape of the fabric over her thighs in the mirror. There’s a certain wariness that keeps them all restlessly quiet, understanding the backstage politics that have gone into this round of reranking, though it isn’t quite as oppressive as the Play team’s atmosphere had been; they’ve all already seen each other’s first round performances and the ensuing rank shakeups, know more or less what to expect. She meets Zihan’s eyes in the mirror and shows her teeth in a smile.

Over the next hour they hammer out any mistakes under one another’s watchful gazes. Xueer hadn’t expected such a sense of camaraderie when, unlike the position evaluations, there’s little direct benefit to helping each other out, and most of them are only here because they’ve been sacrificed on the altar of dramatic television. Kindness seems untactical—or maybe she’s thinking too short-term, if any of these girls might be her bandmates in a few months’ time. She’d chalk it up to her rank insecurity, but half the room hasn’t even cracked the top forty. 

Xueer knows how to follow cues, though. She pauses to coach Huibo through the timing of some steps in the dance break and a cameraman moves closer; the girl will probably be cut at the first round of eliminations, so it’s a small tradeoff for the potential extra screentime. Eventually, bored of waiting for Lisa to drop by, Xueer wanders off in search of a more private practice space. She pushes open the door to one of the smaller studios, and inside, Jiaqi freezes mid-step, at the thumbs-up point choreography of the chorus. “Oh,” Xueer says, startled, “I didn’t realise this room was already occupied—”

“No, no, come in, we can practise together,” Jiaqi says hurriedly. “If you’d like?”

“Always better to practise with a partner,” Xueer agrees. “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back! I’ll look out for you.”

Xueer steps forward so she’s side by side with Jiaqi, their reflections in the practice room mirror an arm’s length apart. The theme song loops back to the start, and they assume the opening pose. There’s such a gorgeous cleanness to Jiaqi’s movements, even as fatigue starts setting in, that Xueer can’t help but admire. It’s obvious she should not be in B Class any more than Xueer should be in C. 

They take a quick water break. Xueer collapses to the floor, limbs gelatinous and sweaty. She takes small, careful sips from her bottle, to avoid upsetting her stomach.

“Are you nervous?” Jiaqi asks finally.

She’d said the same thing to her while they were waiting off to the side of the Happy Camp set for filming to begin. _Are you nervous?_ Xueer had slid a glance sideways at her, standing in a little pocket of light. Jiaqi looked completely at ease, as though the gaze of another was her birthright. _Don’t be._

Now, just as she did then, Xueer says, “Of course not!” She sets her bottle down and gestures to her yellow shirt. “This is just for now. We’re still a long way from the finish line.” 

Jiaqi hums. “Anything can happen.” Her portrait on the cafeteria leaderboard nearly as far away from Xueer’s as it’s possible to be, but the fact remains that both of their names and faces are up there, and as far as Xueer’s concerned that won’t change.

Jiaqi kneels down to retie her shoelaces. With her head bent forward, her hair falls away from the nape of her neck, revealing a pale strip of skin just above her shirt collar. Mouth dry again, Xueer wants with a sudden, startling viciousness to cup her hand over the exposed skin, thumb to the bone underneath, that secret steel. She uncurls her fingers, examines the crescent-shaped marks her fingernails left in the meat of her palm. Without sustained pressure behind them they’re already fading. 

It’s Xueer’s turn to spout the lines. “Back then, in the cafeteria,” Xueer starts, and Jiaqi looks up, eyes meeting Xueer’s. Steady, steady. The wolf at the door, which of them is it? “What I meant was—it was still very brave of you to give up what you already had. For this.”

“I understood what you meant,” Jiaqi says, and maybe she truly does, the extension of alliance beneath the platitudes. “You’re really strong. I hope you don’t think I’ve been—looking down on you." A glimmer of a smile. “And I didn’t mean to steal Keni off your team, I promise!” 

Xueer sets her hands on her hips in mock judgment. “It’s okay, I'll forgive you for it if you share some of your sheetmask stash with me. My skin’s been awfully dry from all the sweating and the ones I brought here are too light.”

Still on one knee, Jiaqi says, “A small price to pay for your mercy,” and places a hand over her heart, bending forward at the waist in a bow. “I’ll drop some off at your dorm tonight?”

There are other things she could say to Jiaqi now: you should have stayed in A. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. When I breathed you were like a knife in my lungs. Open the door. Let me in.

Jiaqi does not have a face that particularly inspires honesty. This is perhaps the only reason Xueer opens her mouth at all. “This show is my last chance,” Xueer says, under her breath. “I didn’t… make the most… of some of the ones I’ve had before.”

Xueer has: her face, her eight years, her muscle memory, her hunger. A mouth apt to land her in hot water, a heart like fire. 

Jiaqi has— 

“Your company name this time, it suits you,” Jiaqi says gently. She reaches out and catches one of Xueer’s hands, grasping it between both of her own. Her palms are warm, warmer than Xueer’s. “Snow on the mountaintop… maybe that’s a sign.”

The upwards ascent, summit in sight. What a long and lonely journey it’s been. Is still. Xueer’s vision coruscates; there’s glitter caught in her eyelashes, a chasm in her belly. Jiaqi shimmers like she’s giving off light herself. Her fingers against Xueer’s wrist, the rush of blood there, are sure.

“I hope so,” Xueer murmurs. 

The director asks, “How important is this to you?”

It hadn’t really hit her until she’d first walked into the room with its grand dinner table, every girl on even ground for the first and possibly last time. A hundred-odd dreams jostling for victory, each of them identical in shape, in legitimacy of claim. But her dream is more important because it is _hers_. She needs to rise to the top, make herself seen. She will not be forgettable. She’s done her time on the side of the set and now it’s her turn in the light. 

“This is the only thing I’m good at,” Xueer says, allowing her eyes to fill with tears. She’s careful not to look directly at the camera; she can’t break the immersion. She’s practised this too, in front of the mirror. Truth can be beautiful with a little bit of effort. “I only know how to sing, to dance. So I have no other path.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is held together by a very rickety framework of hypotheses, rumours, and references, so apologies if canon swiftly proves me wrong. some notes:  
> > kxe and xjq were both on 亚洲文化嘉年华 in 2019, so they've known each other for some time already  
> > the song ysx sings is the nursery rhyme 小兔子乖乖, about a wolf trying to convince a baby rabbit to open the front door (yk. so the wolf can eat it)  
> > jzh is an ex-sm trainee (from the sm new ggroup period) and kxe is an ex-jyp trainee (from the twice period). i assume jzh left sm after it became clear sm wasn't planning to debut their new gg anytime soon, but kxe's departure from jyp was allegedly under more interesting circumstances. i've also heard rumours that kxe was part of the potential wjsn lineup, so that's two debuts she missed out on, on top of ladybees. FINGERS CROSSED FOURTH TIME'S THE CHARM  
> > a deleted scene can be found [here @ dreamwidth](https://rhodochrosite.dreamwidth.org/13541.html)
> 
> i'm on twitter [@juncheolsoo](https://twitter.com/juncheolsoo) / cc [@inheritance](https://curiouscat.me/inheritance)!


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